Physical Education
by Trinity.94
Summary: Sunnydale High is happy to welcome the new hottie gym teacher, Mr.O'Roarke. He seems to have a keen interest in Buffy, and she's happy to be of service.
1. Chapter 1

**This story was inspired by the mysterious 'Lofty Heights' who wrote my faveee fanfic story 'Culture Shock' - uncompleted and unupdated since 2003 lol. But I LOVED the way she wrote it, so I wanted to take a crack at meddling into THIS Buffy's humorous and perverted mind. So don't complain that Serious Slayer Buffy wouldn't have said or acted this way, cuz she's NOT the Slayer, and this Buffy and hangs with a couple of Goof Balls like Xand and Willow. Nuff' said.**

Chapter 1.

My school would have to be the definition of _blah. _Nothing exciting, nothing new ever seems to rear its big fat head in the direction of Sunnydale High and drool on us.

Really.

I'm surprised everyone made a big deal when I came along to register in, especially since I'm probably the most socially retarded person in the school. If they had a special social Olympics, I think I would be etched into the plaque of fame.

Not that I'd be complaining if my name was engraved anywhere at all. The only place you'd probably ever find name would be in the school records and on the cover of Creepy Pete's weird notebook he carries around everywhere to hide his huge erection he gets whenever he sees a person of the female agenda. Hence why people call him Creepy Pete.

But nonetheless, the fact that my school's so boring that even _I _make top head news, must obviously mean something.

That's why when word got round that we were getting a new member of the faculty, the school began to get excited and actually talk about something. Even I've been wondering about the new teacher that was coming here.

I haven't been at this high school for long, but the only remotely interesting staff members I have come across since being here are Miss Calender – mainly because she's laidback, cool and gives the class free time during the computer lesson – and Principal Snyder. And the only reason I feint interest in that little troll of a Stark Trek extra is because I like to mentally measure the size of his forehead.

18 centimetres is my estimate so far.

Xander once told me it's far more challenging to count the few hairs he actually has on his head. I've been meaning to do so next time I see his ugly mug around.

Xander Harris is one of my best friends, along with Willow Rosenberg. The two of them are definitely people I would have shunned back at my old school Hemery, but since I moved to California from L.A I've definitely picked up on the prospect of what real friends are.

You see, when I first had my clan of brain-dead Barbie doll friends (actually no, Barbie is much too nice to identify them with her - I'll stick with Mutant Ninja Whores) I used to be the stereotypical popular bitch. Any reject that wasn't able to toss a ball around on a football field and resemble a big, dumb ape, or any girl that wasn't someone cheering bimbo antics like 'Go, Hogs, go!" for these meat heads, was not even worth looking at.

Soon after, I met Pike who was my first insight to actually seeing there was more to the world than being popular and pretending not to know what the word insight even meant. Then I really burned my bridges by being seen with Pike at the dance, so I was socially rejected and my dumb basketball player boyfriend (whose name isn't even WORTH mentioning) dumped me. But that didn't matter too much to me anyway because I was the only one out of all those skanks to actually grow a brain!

And the rest of the story goes that me and my mom packed up and moved to an unknown town like Sunnydale where on the first day I ditched Cordelia Chase for friends like Xand and Will so I was able to sit down each day with people who could continue a conversation without saying "so, like" every five seconds.

So for that mature decision, I am now classed as a 'loser', but that's totally fine by me because I'm the happiest loser I know!

I can lie to you if I want, I'm not completely un-human.

--

"So do you know what class this teacher will be teaching?" Xander asked Willow, because out of all three of us she was the only one who'd be closer to attaining this information. Seeing as she spent more time in a teacher's presence and was bound to pick up some gossip.

"Nu-uh, only that his name is Mr. O'Roarke and he's starting tomorrow," Willow answered whilst biting into her apple.

"Ooh, a _Mr._ O'Roarke. I hope he's cute," I muse out loud as I lean against my locker. An image of Indiana Jones as a history professor rolled into my head and I have to bite my lip as I realise drool isabout to start making its way out of my mouth.

"I bet he's really old and creepy. And he's a gym teacher who gets all the girls to do explicit stretches in front of him," Xander said to us, which caused me and Will to both roll our eyes.

"Not every teacher is like you, Xand," I joked as I spun around to get my maths text book.

"You're right, but this teacher is probably likely to get the boys to participate as well."

Willow and I both shot an identical grossed-out look at each other. "Eww."

--

The day persisted to be boring and uninteresting as usual. If only people knew what went on in my mind though, I'm sure it would be a bit more entertaining and I would get even more weird looks from everyone and possibly have a couple of black eyes.

I have an opinion on pretty much anyone I see loitering around the corridors or in class, and none of the thoughts are particularly friendly.

I'm not saying I'm a horrible person, (although God might think that my incredibly perverted mind might tell Him otherwise) I'm genuinely very friendly and easy to get along with. But you have a tendency to dislike people you see everyday because the Queen Bee of the school had gotten you offside with everyone in the first place.

It's not like I had completely ditched Cordelia in a rude way, I just gently informed her I was going to be hanging out with Willow and Xander instead of her and her click…and also that night I had managed to push her up against the wall with a stake aimed right for her face. But I mean, I was in the alley behind the Bronze and I thought she was a rapist in the dark.

Moving on!

So anyway, as I am sitting in Biology an thinking about how Lisa Burgundy's moustache seems to be growing longer, I'm grateful the tank can't read my mind and thrown me out the window.

It wouldn't matter if she did anyway though; I could just hang on for dear life on her moustache.

"Summers!" Dr. Gregory managed to catch me not paying attention.

"Yes?" I squeak at the intimidating science teacher I have for Biology.

"Do you care to tell me where the frog's gall bladder is located?" Dr. Gregory asked, knowing full well I was going to give him a failed response.

I look down at my dissected frog and cringe. "Um, by the long, yellow, stringy thing?" I guess uncertainly.

"If you were paying attention, Ms. Summers, you would know the gall bladder is attached to the liver which is located under the lungs."

"Oh," I say, looking gloomily back down at my poor, dead frog.

"Next time, please do not stare dreamily at your classmates the whole lesson, Buffy, and pay attention."

Ok, I'm blushing now and everyone's 'Oohing'. Morons.

I wouldn't be surprised if Lisa was actually a man anyway.

--

"Hi honey, how was school today?"

The benefits of being me in my sad-boring life is that I have a mother who picks me up everyday after school, unlike the poor, unloved kids who have to wait at least three quarters of an hour for their bus to arrive and take them home.

The only downfall is that I feel obliged to make awkward conversation.

My mom still really believes I'm the school's prom queen and a high achiever that waves pom-poms around all day in a big, sweaty gym.

Sometimes I wonder why I stayed in my bubble back at my old school for so long.

"It was ok. Creepy Pete puked on the science teacher today while we were dissecting frogs," I tell her, but she doesn't appear amused.

"That's rather revolting, Buffy. Do you have anything else to tell me that might improve my knowledge of what you get up to all day?"

"Well, the school's been talking about a new teacher that's coming in tomorrow?" I inform my never-satisfied mom. She should sometimes be grateful I actually bother answering her because I struggle to find something about my day remotely interesting to mention.

"Oh, really? That's probably the man that came into the gallery today. He had a profound interest in some of the artworks, especially the ivory. He told me he's the new P.E teacher at the high school."

"Well? Was he cute? Did he say how long he'd be there for? What's his first name? He didn't look like an old paedophile, did he?" I blurted out, now generally happy I'm having this conversation.

"Gee, Buffy, I didn't know you had such a keen interest in teachers."

I roll my eyes. "Not a lot goes on at Sunny-D High," I reminded. "So?"

"Well, he said his name was Angelus, but to call him Angel. He wasn't old, or creepy looking – he certainly didn't look like a paedophile," my mom chuckled. "In f act he looked about twenty three – twenty four?"

"Was he a hottie?" I demanded to know.

My mom looked at me in that 'I probably shouldn't let you know' smirk she sometimes pulled as she pursed her lips. Turning back the road, she didn't answer but I figured it out anyway.

Finally! Someone better to look at then the lesbian maths teacher who resembles a cute boy was going to be teaching at my school. Yay!

**Haha, ok a little leakage of my real name was put into this one incase you saw it before (yess, Trinity is actually my _middle _name) But yeah, just ignore that and gets readding. Ohhh, I love reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

I doubt there is anything worse than a morning where you have to get up at 7:30 to get ready to go to school. Especially if you were up all night working on your English assignment on the most boring play ever created – 'Hamlet' - which of course like everything else you've left to the last minute to finish.

And then that horrible 'Beep-be-be-beep' sound echoes through your entire room OVER and OVER and clicking 'Snooze' doesn't help either because your mom decides to walk in with her cheery morning voice on and says, "Good Morning Buffy! Time to get up!"

I despise her when she's in a good mood of a morning, because I on the other hand feel like a dog that's been violently run over and probably look like one too.

On top of deciding what to wear for the day – selecting from a whole wardrobe of last season's clothes! – I also have to identify my stomach's needs and choose whether to have breakfast or not.

Then of course while I'm having my shower there is NO MORE Coconut Milk conditioner and I have to run out of the bathroom in my towel to get some from my mom's ensuite.

But eventually I get to school in one piece and remember that the new teacher, _Mr. Angel O'Roarke _– (I say his name seductively in my mind whilst thinking of myself on a school desk in a plaid mini skirt holding an apple) is going to be arriving today. And what are the chances, I have double Phys-ed third and fourth!

Normally I hate PE, mainly because when it comes to me and dodge ball you can never find me because I'm the one lying on the ground in the fetal position whilst I'm being rained on by pink, squishy spheres.

Oh, it's so funny! Let's throw balls at the tiny blond girl cause' she's so helpless! What's she gonna do?

But I can assure you, God had tricks up his sleeves when he blessed women with PMS because I will show no mercy when I'm playing dodge ball and it's that time of the month.

But usually, me and sports don't quite mix.

--

I see Xander and Willow standing by the front doors of the school and witness Cordelia walking off with a look of both shock and revulsion etched on her face and Xander looking smug. Curiously, I wander over to them.

"What's the what?" I asked the smiling pair.

"Xander made a joke! Well, not that he never does – but to Cordelia!" She looked so triumphant; it brought a smile to my face.

Out of all three of us, Willow's been getting it from Cordy the most ever since the first day of kindergarten and Cordelia made fun of her stripy rainbow overalls. Then her pasty white skin in the third grade, and by eighth grade when Willow wore her cap backwards (Hello? _Everyone _was doing it!) Queen C in her Juicy Couture outfit and Sketchers made sure that NOBODY liked Alex Mack anymore and had Willow feeling like the biggest dork in school.

Of course in between those events there were other nasty things Cordelia has done to Willow on her behalf, but these were the most mentionable. Poor Wills. That's her childhood trauma.

"So what was said?" I encouraged them to tell.

"Cordelia was all like, "Oh Willow, nice to see you dress at the softer side of Sears" and I'm all "My mom bought it for me" because, well, you know – she did, and then Cordelia's like "No wonder you're such a guy magnet" and then Xander pipes in saying, "Hey Cordelia, I don't know what everyone's talking about! That outfit doesn't make you look like a hooker!" And then – and then Cordelia did that huff she does – you know that huff? - and walked off!" Willow let out a long breath as she ended the tale of events that had just unfolded.

"Way to go, Xand!" I congratulated.

"Well, just lookin' out for my favourite red head," Xander said as he threw an arm around Willow.

It really is sad that all three of us have nothing to talk about except minor events that happen on that day. But then a thought hits me and as I gesture to walk inside the school and get on with the new buzz I've got on -seductive voice- _Mr. O'Roarke_.

"The new teacher's name is Angel, and apparently he's a hottie," I inform my friends as we walk along the corridor to our lockers.

"That's old news, Buff! We're gonna be seeing him today third and fourth, aren't we?" Xander says.

Pout. Trust Xander to pop my gossip bubble.

"Fine! But at least now you know his name is Angel!" I retort.

Xander snorts. "Angel? What kind of a name is Ange-"

Suddenly as we turn the corner, we all end up face to face with a very smug, EXTREMELY HOT looking man I can only assume is Mr. O'Roarke. He gives Xander a wide grin and I can't help returning the earlier me-on-a-desk image but this time with me spanking him with ruler.

I'm a very, very disturbed person.

"Angel is the name my mother gave me. It means Angelic. But you can all call me Mr. O'Roarke."

Or I can call you McLovin' and you and I can relive my naughty school girl fantasy in the locker rooms, big boy.

Luckily my big mouth didn't blurt that out, but something almost embarrassing does. "Will we be playing dodge ball?"

Well, he is a Phys-ed teacher.

"Umm…no? Why would you ask me that anyway?" He asks curiously.

"My mom told me you were the new gym teacher here."

"Your mom wouldn't happen to be Joyce from the gallery, would she?" McLovin asks.

"Uh, that'd be her."

"You look just like her," he says.

I take the opportunity to look into his eyes. They're like swirling pools of chocolate. I want to pull them out and pour the delicious liquid all over his muscley body and lick it up.

And yes, I just realised how wrong that sounded.

Mr. O'Roarke continues, "But no, there won't be any dodge ball today. Everyone's doing gymnastics."

Xander groaned loudly and Willow's face went paler than usual. However, I don't feel the usual dread I normally get at the mention of the horribly painful activity. Instead, an excitement I'm not too familiar with raced through me at the thought of doing cartwheels and splits in front of this sinfully gorgeous man standing in front of us. Or, not anymore, him walking off and all.

Xander gave a dirty look at Mr. O'Roarke's retreating back and Willow looked about ready to puke. I patted her enthusiastically on the back as I began to skip happily into the courtyard. The I realised the weird looks I was receiving from my peers and stopped.

Just because I'm happy doesn't mean skipping around the place doesn't make me look like an idiot.

--

"I Dooooon't trust him."

"Xander!"

"He has child molester written all over him, Buff!"

If by child molester Xander means sixteen year old girl swooner, then I declare him my personal child molester.

Ugh, what is with me and the worst analogies?

"Delusional Xand," I comment, writing down the maths notes scrawled on the board.

"Yeah, well, he has a receipting hair line."

I give him a 'what-kind-of-an-insult-was-that?' look.

"I mean he wears too much hair gel."

My eyes automatically roll, but that word has sparked yet another mental picture into my polluted mind.

Just a hint, Angel + lots + lots of hair gel. And not necessarily on his hair.

Ahh, maths has regained a whole new meaning.


End file.
